


Reasons Why Diamonds Droog Hates Christmas

by noxeulalie



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen, Intermission Secret Santa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxeulalie/pseuds/noxeulalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can tell when the festive season truly begins when you walk into a department store and see a rack of novelty ties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasons Why Diamonds Droog Hates Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> My gift to varietyshow for the Intermission Secret Santa thing going on on tumblr!

_Reason the First:_

     You can tell when the festive season truly begins when you walk into a department store and see a rack of novelty ties. You can see them from halfway across the store--green and red and utterly horrific—but you cannot avoid them. There had been an incident earlier that week, and your last good white tie had gotten covered in blood. You are desperately in need of a few replacements.

     Your steps towards the tie section are not the least bit tentative, though every fibre of your well-dressed being is telling you to get the hell out of there. You nearly wretch when you noticed there were honest to god _bells_ attached to those ties, right along with a thousand small elves, tiny reindeer, and minuscule Santas smiling up at you with wall-eyed gazes. You want to visibly shudder, but shuddering is not the sort of thing that Diamonds Droog is apt to do.

     You reach out and click what seemed to be an ‘on’ button located next to a particularly garish reindeer tie and—oh god the nose lit up.  
You leave right then without buying a single tie.

 _Reason the Second:_

    The Dark Days of Christmas don’t really descend, however, until the day you are sitting in the Hideout, reviewing a getaway route, and you hear a faint jingling noise. At first you think you have just imagined it, but then it starts getting closer.

     When Hearts Boxcars steps into the room and sits down at the table, the first thing you do is glance down at his feet. As he leans forward to tell you some bit of information he’d picked up on the way there, you see a glimpse of the horrible elf socks he is wearing. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to retch up your breakfast.

     You know that it is only a matter of time before Slick breaks out his collection of Scottie dog sweaters.

 _Reason the Third:_

     You walk into the Hideout a few days later to find something horrific. Right at the center of the table that normally held piles of heist plans and street maps, stands a nativity scene. Nativity scenes are not acceptable in any capacity, but to add insult to injury, it is crudely fashioned out of poorly painted plastic. The only light in the room is the sickly orange glow radiating off of the figures, which are plugged into the wall.

     Even more horrendously, the whole thing is nested in a veritable sea of neon green plastic grass that must have hoarded from Easter. You get out your lighter, but you don’t even have time to flick it on before Boxcars comes ambling in.

     He just sits there and looks at you, as if to challenge you to set baby Jesus on fire on his watch. You slowly put the lighter away and get to work filing a pile of carelessly discarded papers.

 _Reason the Fourth:_

     The worst part of the winter season is most definitely Boxcar’s horribly forced and ill-advised Christmas Party. It is an annual event, and every single year without fail, Boxcars would invite not only the Midnight Crew, but Team Sleuth as well.

     Things this year, as per usual, started out with the uneventful. Well, other than the horrendous sweaters that Slick and Sleuth arrive in. Slick’s sweater is especially horrendous (with bells and pom-poms and a little Scottie dog sitting under a tree), but Sleuth’s too-large ugly green monstrosity is not much better, and together they make a pair of eyesores so offensive, you are almost positive a few blood vessels burst in your eyes upon first glance.

     You make a quick detour into Boxcars’ kitchen in order to avoid looking at them much longer, but they follow you in, looking for some hard liquor. Five minutes and a few glasses of heavily spiked eggnog later they’re laughing too loud and stepping through the notorious mistletoe doorway.

     You watch in abject poker-faced horror as Boxcars blocks the doorway just long enough for Sleuth to realize there’s mistletoe hanging above them, lean down, and kiss Slick full and sloppy, right on the lips. Slick gets right into the holiday spirit as well, slinging his arms around Sleuth’s shoulders and kissing—or rather biting you suppose—right back. It doesn’t end until a minute or two later, when Sleuth comes up for air and makes a crack about how he has to lean down so far in order to kiss Slick.

     That, of course, starts a fight. Moments later there have been punches thrown and the two are nothing but blurs of red and green fighting on the linoleum floor of Hearts Boxcars’ kitchen.

     You quietly leave in hopes of finding some solace in the living area until Boxcars allows all of you to leave.

 _The Conclusion:_

     You have been sitting on the hideous red couch for twenty minutes, fifteen of which were spent trying to ignore the sound of the two idiots fighting in the kitchen. The other five were spent trying to ignore Ace Dick, Boxcars, and Deuce belting out Christmas songs along to a smooth jazz cover CD.  
However, soon you find the racket to be almost unbearable, and you get up from your seat and attempt to open the door. This place is a madhouse. You are going insane, or perhaps you are the only sane man left on the planet.

     When you open the door, however, you find that there is a person on the other side.

     “O-oh. H-h-hello there, Droog.”

     “Inspector.”

     You take in the sight of the nervous, fashionably late detective for one moment; ill fitting suit, ill fitting coat, ill fitting pants…But not a single piece of Christmas-themed regalia in sight.

     You don’t know what comes over you, but a moment later you have your arms swung around the Inspector’s shoulders and you’re hugging him like a sight for sore eyes. He, on the other hand is sputtering and stammering and surely wondering what sort of good thing he did to warrant such a display of affection.

     You leave the party right then to go take Inspector out for a drink.


End file.
